


Of Thirteen-Year-Old Girls and Tea Parties

by SunsetOfDoom



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: F/F, Not Actually Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 12:03:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2850194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunsetOfDoom/pseuds/SunsetOfDoom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pacifica's house is big and lonely, except when Mabel is in it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Thirteen-Year-Old Girls and Tea Parties

**Author's Note:**

> Christmas present for toothlass.tumblr.com! I wrote this in like a fever dream at 2am a month ago and when I read it in the morning I thought, "You know who would like this? Jessi." There was originally more, but it was kind of depressing- Pacifica is SUCH a drama queen.

The first time her room felt like the place she _lived_ , instead of slept, was when Mabel Pines barreled up her staircase, shouting so loud Pacifica almost had a heart attack until she remembered her parents were away, and, racing upstairs after her, found Mabel already lying upside down on her bed, her curly hair dangling to the floor. Her fuzzy blue sweater was riding up (down?), exposing the creamy pudge of her belly, and there were remains of gummi bears in her teeth.

They were both thirteen. Mabel had told her stories- most of them too ridiculous to be true- about boys she’d ‘dated’, crushes she’d had. But it was the first time Pacifica felt anything like it.

She strode across the room, butterflies moving underneath her ribs, and alighted on the duvet, crossing her ankles, breathing shallow breaths. She was intimately aware of the way Mabel’s fingers coming down to dig into her plush carpet meant that her sweater showed even more of her untanned skin, how warm her friend made the bed.

“This place is so _fancy_!” Mabel gushed, sitting up on the bedspread. “Woa-oh, head rush!” She tilted her head side to side, and flopped dramatically across Pacifica’s lap, making her jump. Mabel laughed, oblivious to her friend’s embarrassment; or maybe not, maybe just enjoying absolutely everything, the way only she could do. Her tongue darted out, trying to wiggle some green goo from between her now brace-less teeth. “You know what we should do?”

“No, I don’t.” Pacifica tried to make it sarcastic, but it came out sounding to her like a lovesick sigh. She felt her eyebrow twitch.

“We should dress up, and have a tea party! I never get to have tea parties anymore.” She pouted, her enormous blue eyes shining, and Pacifica’s heart nearly stopped. “Except with Waddles, but he spills everything and it’s a pain to clean it up. Even _Candy_ thinks that tea parties are kid stuff.”

“I have tea parties all the time at Westchester.” Pacifica didn’t like to talk much about her school around Mabel; it seemed like such a different world. But she knew Mabel would like this story. “Some of the English girls taught the rest of us how you’re supposed to do it right. But there’s no time during the day, so we sneak down to the kitchens for milk and sugar to have, like, secret midnight tea parties.”

Mabel laughed, delighted. All of Pacifica’s friends in Gravity Falls giggled, quiet and ladylike, or chuckled their disapproval or disdain. She liked Mabel’s loud, hiccuping laugh. She liked most everything about the middle-class suburban Californian. And if anyone knew how much- she’d be in unimaginable trouble.

“Come on!” Mabel shouted, vaulting off her lap. “You can make the tea-” she stuck her tongue out, imitating Pacifica’s reaction to the store-brand Earl Grey at the Mystery Shack, “and I’ll find the pretty dresses.”

They spent the whole afternoon in the kitchen, twirling in ill-fitting fairy-princess dresses of Summerweens past, ruining them with biscuit crumbs and spilled Earl Grey. They took tea at the prep table instead of in the dining room or tea room, and Mabel hooked the laptop up to the kitchen flat screen so they could watch videos and listen to music. 

They danced, barefoot, uncoordinated, on the linoleum floor, not in time with the music, kicking, lipsyncing, headbanging.

A waltz shuffled on.

There was a pause, and Mabel played with her hair for a moment. 

“I, uh, don’t really know how to dance to this.”

Pacifica took her hand, bubbles of nerves and something else, syrupy-sweet, and put the other on her side.

“I can teach you.”

Moments later, Mabel was holding her around the waist and resting their foreheads together while she watched her feet, stepping in a clumsy box.

And Pacifica knew she was in love.


End file.
